


The Garden of Adam and Eve

by Mthaelly



Series: Kar'taylir darasuum laar [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Author is a AnGst slut, Bitter ARGUments, Bitter Exes, Gimme all that AnGSt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega Verse, Slow Burn, Smut, eventually, that slow burn, yeessss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mthaelly/pseuds/Mthaelly
Summary: Paz is a descendant of one of the most prestigious clans in Mandalore's history. Heir of House Vizsla and an Alpha.Din is an orphan. Who's life was spared by the kindness of others and the man who adopted him. He came late into his years as an Omega.They meet, and eventually become more.As the saying goes:"I love you, and that's the beginning and end of everything."∆Ok so I originally wanted this to be like a 100k+ one shot, but nah. Imma just turn it into a series. Also there's way too little stories about these two, especially in Omegaverse. So I thought I would give it a shot. Keep in mind that it's my first time writing this AU, so it kinda might suck hard.*-* But goddamnit I love these two so hard I need to write about them, so enjoy :D!
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: Kar'taylir darasuum laar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639393
Comments: 8
Kudos: 156





	The Garden of Adam and Eve

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of the end.
> 
> Or to put it simply, the Prologue!

He was born one of the Mandalorians.But he wasn't just another one of the Mando'ade.

He was born to pure blooded Mandalorian parents. Descendants of the most prestigious and noble of Mandalorian clans.

_"Ner ad, gar cuyir solus be mhi."_ His Father and Mother had uttered to him.

_"Gar cuyir be Vizsla."_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_My son, you are one of us._

  
_You are of clan Vizsla._

///

  
Paz was biggest among all the younglings. Naturally tall and wide, long thick limbs and firm fists. Even from a young age, his peers could see he was built for strength. His parents saw it as well and was swift in sending him to partake in the rigorous training that all Mandalorian younglings went through. And though he was younger than expected, his tutors never seemingly minded that he had joined to train at the age of only four. Most would've gone at six but he was so exceptionally large that none had ever suspected anything else.

He fought hard and well. Toppling over older opponents with seeming natural ease. His size intimidating and lethal on the training ground as opponent after opponent went down just from a swing of fists or a kick to the leg. His tutors were proud of him. His parents, watching from the sidelines, even more so as he gazed at the approving gleam of their visors.  
  


He too was proud of his stature, even more so his name. For the other younglings ogled and awed at him. Seemingly already the perfect picture of Mando'kar at such a young age; nevermind the truth that he was even younger. And a Vizsla, no less. His parents were often swarmed with compliments from their fellow warriors as his young self stood by their beskar padded legs, chin held high as he basked in endless praise.

"Truly," One Mandalorian had said. "A perfect son of Vizsla."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And as expected of an ideal son of Vizsla, when he turned 13, he was identified as an Alpha.

∆

He was not born one of the Mandalorians. Far from it, in fact.

He was ordinary; his parents had been ordinary. If he could ever remember much about them.

They had died too soon. And then, he had been saved by an armoured figured in blue beskar steel.

Then, the blue armoured man had handed him off to others in similar helmets of different colours. One day he stayed there and then the next he was moving again. Cold armoured figured taking him in and then giving him away the next. Finally, he was placed in an institution of a somewhat orphanage-resque place. For days, perhaps weeks, perhaps _months_ he lived there, small and frail among the others who were swiftly and surely, taken in one by one.

Laying on his cot one day, he heard the door to his small room open with a hiss. His face turned away from facing the door.

"2278, there is someone here for you." He recognized the crisp sound of the governess. A lean woman in silver armour who had taken care of him. Given him food and sent him off to bed at the appropriate time. And that was that.

But he respected her for going through with the trouble of caring for a stranger's child. So he turned around.

There, almost head taller than her, stood a figure clad in white armour, a bit worn and scratched. From battle, he presumed. He learned what he could from all his time on the planet and pieced it together with fragments of tales and stories he had from back home. Once, he would've given anything to see the legendary Mandalore and their warrior inhabitants.

Now, that cost was too difficult to bear.

Trapped in his thoughts, he had not noticed the man approaching him. Not until the cool voice of the governess had whipped him back to attention.

"Well 2278, are you not going to greet our guest?" The woman reprimanded, hands crossed against the armour plating of her chest.

"Its alright." The man says, raising his armoured covered hand in a gesture of peace, before turning to face him. White helmet somehow able to convey a feeling of warmth, warmth and _kindness_. He raises his eyes to the helmet of the man in front of him, looking at his reflection on the visor of the man's helmet. Somehow, he imagined the man behind smiling. He desperately wanted to. Perhaps the man had the same face of his long gone father, brown hair and wrinkled face creased in a warm smile as he tucked him to bed as the man's face slowly faded into memory. He can't remember his mother's face anymore.  
  
  
  


"Leave us for a moment Gaza."

He hears the door close, still looking at the man's visor on his scarred white helmet. Realising that he looked at it for far too long. He flinches away as the man kneels down to his much, much shorter height. He offers a hand to him.

"Do you have a name?" The man asks. Din hesitates, eyes darting to the floor. There is silence in the room for a span of a moment, as Din refuses to answer and the man still stays kneeling in front of him.

The man is unrelenting though, hand still outstretched towards him, patient as he continued to wait for the boy's response.

"....D...Din sir."

And this time, Din was sure the man smiled behind the white helmet. What he couldn't be sure of, was what the man seem to intend to do next. As he raised his hands to his helmet to seemingly remove it, Din leaned back, caught by a sudden wave of uncertainty and fear.

The man, sensing his fear, stopped midway of removing his helmet. Din could see waves of blonde hair sticking out from beneath it, thin lips half revealed by the partially removed helmet. The man's voice sounding understandably garbled as his real voice blended with the one of the modulator on his helmet.

"Its alright, Din. I won't bite."

Perhaps it was the half hidden smile on the man's face, or that it was the first time he heard his real name used for a long time. He visibly relaxed, no longer leaning away from the man.

The man removed his helmet entirely.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"There. I don't look so bad do I?"

Din would say the absolute opposite actually. The man had grey eyes that simmered between blue and green in the light, wavy blonde hair that curled naturally over his eyebrows. Dimples formed at each side of his thin lips as he smiled, hand still outstretched towards Din. He placed his smaller hand in them as he continued to gawk at the man's seemingly angelic features.

"My name is Len Djarin." He said, voice softer and less frayed at the edge as it was no longer suppressed by a modulator. He lightly bounced Din's hand in his palm.

"Will you let me take care of you Din?"

Din nods.

The man nods, smile never leaving his face as he closed his other hand over Din's resting on his palm.  
  
  
  
  
  


_"Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad"_  
  
  


_I know your name as my child._

///  
  
  
  
  
  


Din was nine when he was taken in. And he was small, thin and mouse like. He cowered behind his newly adoptive father as the man enrolled him for his training. He had begged, albeit quietly and timidly tugging on his father's white armour, to stay by the sidelines to keep watch over him as he trained. The man simply ruffled his hair and shooed him off to the trainer clad in red armour.

He was embarrassingly, sorted in with the younger trainees. Not that it mattered, he had stood at almost same height with them. His eyes darted to and fro frantically in search of his father's white amour at the sidelines, only to be snapped to attention by the tall female trainer with a sharp clip to the ears. The other younglings sniggered quietly.

He trained hard. He fought......well in the trainer's words to his father, moderately. He was flexible and agile. And while he excelled greatly in quick dodges and smooth slides, a mere punch to the gut would have him toppling over. Still, the trainer had said, with enough training he would learn to master his flexibility and in time, nurture his own style of combat. Back home, his father simply ruffled his hair again and tipped his downturned and ashamed face up to face him.

"You did good Din." His father smiled.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When he was 17, he rushed red faced to his father with soaked undergarments and painful cramps in his stomach. He was identified as an Omega.  
  
  
  


∆  
  
  
  
  
  


Paz knew of Din since they were little boys in the training yard.

Odd thing, he thought as he chanced a glance at him. The boy was fidgety, eyes constantly shifting to the sides where the adults sat and watched the daily sparring sessions. He had the most curly brown hair that often stuck out at akward angles, much to the amusement of the others in the training yard. He looked wisp thin, as if he could fall apart with the slightest blow of a breeze. His big brown eyes, panicky and wary, looked both fun to tease and incredibly sad. And he was so so quiet. When prompted to speak, he spluttered and stuttered as the others would take the shot all at once to laugh at him.

After a few bumbling attempts, he had just stopped talking completely.

Very odd, he mused as his eyes shifted back to the opponent in front of him. Hooking his arm around his sparring partner's neck, he wondered of the boy's age as he flipped the other over.

///

Din knew of Paz. Who didn't? The famed son of the proud clan of Vizsla, with his blond hair and blue eyes and that trademark cocksure attitude. He looked and felt larger than life, even as a youngling and possessed all the qualities he himself never had. Strength and confidence that won him all the fights and praise of others.

He had looked at Din, once or twice. Eyes glancing over his mussed hair as he rose from the ground and defeat. Then, they had simply shifted away to look at other things seemingly more worthy of his sight.  
  


Din was sure that the larger boy thought little of him. He hoped it would remain that way.

///  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Paz had brought up the subject of the boy randomly during his parents's short lived return from battle.

"He is a foundling my son. He was saved by one of us during the war." His mother had said in her crisp voice, smoothened out by the voice modulator of her helmet.

"He is of Vizsla then?"  
  


"No, but his _buir_ fights for our clan and our cause."  
  


"He seems very young."  
  


His mother laughs, almost imperceptible under her helmet.  
  


" My _ad'ika_ , he is older than you by five years."

∆  
  


They both fought together, once or twice on the training grounds.

Paz knew he would graduate from basic training soon. At the end of today he would turn 13 and had been granted to take the final exams. His nature was about to show itself this year. He was confident that it would. After all, everything else had worked out for him.

As he looked at Din standing opposite him, he remembered what his mother had said to him all those years ago.

_He must be 17years old now._

By then, they already had helmets on. Not the helmets of their fathers and mothers, but still a symbol of a young Mandalorian coming to age. He could no longer see that ridiculous hair, or tease that fidgety glance of those big brown eyes of his any longer. Idly, he wondered if it was still brown. The other had only barely reached his shoulders, even as the elder of the duo.

The drums sounded the start of the spar and Paz watched as Din shifted his boot against the ground, tense.

The drum sounded again, and both lunged at each other.

///  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Din was already sixteen and still his nature had not shown itself.

Throughout his thirteenth year, he had waited anxiously for any sign of bodily changes. He had hoped desperately to turn out as a Beta because deep down, he knew he could never be an Alpha. As being an Omega would definitely worsen, or perhaps the right word would be _complete_ his already small physical stature even more. He feared it most terribly.

He had voiced that fear aloud to his father on his coming of age day, when both had went to a local tavern because his father insisted they should celebrate it. The man treated him like a blood related son,even though he failed miserably at living up to being one. Over the past few years, he had tried desperately to one up his physique to that perfect picture of Mando'kar in his mind. All he ever achieved was being flung to ground repeatedly, face turned to look at Paz in all his real Mando'kar glory.  
And yet, his father never did once condescend nor judge, even if Din felt like the man should for all the troubles he went through to raise him. Unlike Paz's parents who were leaders of the clan, Len Djarin was merely a foot soldier. The man had to risk his life chasing a bounty just to afford Din his first set of partial Beskar clad armour. Din had refused, but he had wanted to give him a gift on his coming of age day.

"You deserve this, Din. And I'm sorry I can't you give you any more my _ad'ika._ "

He remembered hugging him then, face pressed against his father's dirty chest plate, tears leaking out of his eyes. He remembered how much he had loved his father at that moment, as he still does.

Which is why, he was careful when mentioning about his emerging nature, as Len was an Omega. The man merely smiled though, even though Din couldn't see beneath his father's helmet. He knew the man was, as his kind nature would always have him be. Smiling.

"I don't mean to offend you, _buir_ "

"None taken my _ad._ "

His father raised his cup of _papuur'gal_ to him, offering him to do the same. He raises his cup to meet his father's as well. Then the man had said simply:  
  
  
  


"If it is meant to be, then it will be."

///  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Din dodged one of Paz swipes at him, ducking below the other's fist and sliding underneath him to get a good kick at his legs. Paz stumbled but his footing remained. Turning to the other Mandalorian, he flung his blade out towards him, one arm coming to hook around him neck and keep him in place. Din slipped out and brandished his own, jabbing between the Beskar plates of Paz's armour. Paz grunts, whipping around and grabbing on his waist firmly. Din curls his legs around Paz's neck, trying to dislodge himself.

Instead, Paz just flings him to the ground. Din wheezes beneath the helmet at the air being knocked out of him by sheer brute force. Still caught between his legs, he pries them away from his neck quickly in the moment of Din's disoriented state, leaning his arm fully onto his chest. Paz hears him suck in a strangled breath.

_Gar cuyir bid kih_

_You are so small_

His hands clutch at the arm against his chest trying in vain to pry it away from him. _Stubborn little thing_

He leans fully onto him, large frame covering him entirely as his other arm comes to pry his hands  
away, easily.

_"Yield ori'vod"_

_Yield big brother_

Din grunts and strains against Paz's hold, refusing and denying him victory. Something dark stirs in him. He leans in even further, helmet tipped to the side where he knew Din's receiver would be on his helmet.

_"Yield at ni ori'vod"_

_Yield to me big brother_

Din all at once, sags beneath at the sound. Hands at his arm no longer scrabbling to be free of his hold. His chest rising up and down rapidly from exertion. Paz could see a silver of neck from the gap in Din's helmet, a strip of tanned golden skin. That dark thing in him purrs and preens at the sight of pliancy before him. He leans, unecessarily closer to the male beneath him, crushing him entirely from the sight of others. The man beneath him whimpers. Paz rumbles a growl in response. He punctuates his next words in gravelly speech.

"Say you yield to me big brother."

A soft whine, almost imperceptible. Paz feels them both roll their hips a little.

" I...I yi....I yield." A breathless voice fills through the modulator. Paz stifles a pleasured groan.

The drums sounded and the spell is suddenly broken. Paz lifts himself up from the smaller male and raises his blade up in victory. The crowd cheers and Paz bathes in the feel of familiar triumph.

Din lifts himself up on trembling limbs and slinks away, all wrecked and boneless.  
  
  


∆  
  
  
  


Din stumbled all the way home in his jelly-like legs. Heat was flaring uncomfortably in him and had him gasping for air like a gaping fish. More than once, he had to lean against a wall of an alleyway as waves of heat came suddenly at him. His stomach twisted and cramped violently, almost blacking out his sight. He managed though, to limp clumsily back home and crash the door open with his seizing body. His father was surprised out of his seat at his noisy entry, helmet off and all.

"Din, are you...?"

One arm shot out to steady him against the familiar wall of their home, his stomach seizing up in waves of agonizing heat and pain. He panted and groaned beneath the helmet.

" Ye...yes...b...bat...room.." He slurred, crashing his way to the bathroom, his father worriedly picking things up behind him. He felt guilty for causing a mess, but the pain and heat had clouded his thoughts entirely.

He tore his helmet off as soon as he crumpled in front of the sink, sweat damp hair clinging and sticking to his forehead as he prepares to heave at the next unbearable cramp. He felt like he was running a 50 degrees fever. His stomach lurched again, prompting him to gag, yet nothing came out of his dry mouth.

His father knocks at the door, speaking calmly and softly.

"Is everything alright _ad_?"

He holds back a gag and coughs before answering.

" Y...Yes, _ni'm pirusti buir_ " He answered as the cramps recedes before returning with a vengeance. He bits his lip in pain. _I'm fine father._ Len doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Can I come in Din?" His voice gentler than before. He groans his agreement. A moment later, the door creaks open, the cooler air outside relieving his heated body by a fraction. His father crouches by his side and combs the hair stuck to his sweaty forehead away before carefully pressing his palm against it.  
Din fumbles for an explanation.

"I...I lost...the...the fight." He croaked, throat burning.

"To Paz?" Din nods. Len smiles at him as he combs back his damp hair.

"Is this what caused you this discomfort?" His brows furrowed in confusion at his father's words.

"Wh...does...it have to do... _cough_..with me being sick?" Len's face remains awfully calm, as if he had expected all this to happen.

"Do you feel damp _ad_?"

A cramp, then it momentarily relaxes. He grits his teeth before answering.

"Well..I..do..uhn.n..feel..swea..ty." His father suddenly breaks a smile, of all the times to do it. Then laughs quietly.

"I meant between your legs, Din."

Din felt himself go redder, if that was even possible in his current state. His father's comment had him stunned for a moment, before timidly shifting his legs to feel between them. Surely enough, he felt a heavy string of slick hanging and dripping between his thighs. His face morphs into one of mortification and the elder Mandalorian picked up on it immediately. He places a gentle hand on his back.

"Congratulations my son. You're an Omega come of age."

Din blacks out.

///  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He returned home with a dull throb in his pants.

He had tried to ignore it. Ignore it while he told his parents of his graduation and victory via hologram transmission. The Vizsla leaders merely nodded their helmeted heads and informed him that they would return a fortnight later. His hands twitched to unzip his pants and his groin throbbed and _throbbed_.

After bidding a prompt farewell to his parents he hurriedly rushed to the restroom, his chair almost toppling over as his large frame rose with such hurriedness. Hands grasping his heavy groin, he panted as he practically kicked the door of the restroom open. He hoped that his foot had not left a dent in the metal.

 _You're a brute Paz._ The image of a young Din flashed before his glazed eyes, knocked down and on the ground; dust and sand caught in that ridiculously brown curly hair. Big round eyes gleaming with fat tears that swirled around those chocolate brown orbs, threatening to fall. His dick positively _vibrated_.

Letting out a pained groan as he unzipped his pants, he found his cock springing free almost immediately. Red and ruddy and large veins prominent on the wrinkled skin, pre cum pearling at the slit. He found some semblance of sanity to feel surprise amongst the heeding arousal clouding over his inhibitions and control.

Adrenaline after a fight had never left him this hot and heavy.

_His brain presented him an image then, an image of Din; on the dirty ground underneath him, heaving and gasping for air. A silver of tanned skin revealed by the gap of his helmet, lean thighs caught around his waist. The man lets out a small whine._

Paz lets out something between a groan and growl.

His fingers come hesitantly to grasp his prick screaming at him for attention. One hand leaning against the opposite wall as he bended over the toilet. His hands warm and dry against the sensitive skin. He bites the inside of his cheek.

_How does he look like underneath that helmet?_

_Does he still have that ridiculous hair? Maybe he grew it out_

_Maybe it curls around that neck of his. Soft brown strands curling delicately against sun kissed skin_

_Maybe it stuck out at awkard angles. Falling over those big eyes of his. Maybe those gentle curls got stuck in his lips_

_His lips. He remembered seeing them all bruised;all pink and plump and swollen_

He was fucking into his fist now, curled fingers spreading pre cum all over the velvety skin of his dick. His thighs trembling from the height of his arousal and he groaned and growled. His mind feeding him sinful after sinful image, fueled further by his spiralling imagination coalescing with his mounting lust. He fucks harder into his fist as the throbbing of his dick increased, the heat flaring to an almost unbearable degree. His swollen head blowing up like a balloon, looking dangerously red.

_Strong lean thighs clasping his neck, head caught between the graceful V of the smaller's man shapely hips_

_He wanted desperately, those hips to roll against him, plump lips whimpering sweetly; akin to sin itself_

He roars his completion and his knot flares, piece of skin latching onto the nothingness of thin air. Long, continuous spurts of milky white spilling out and covering the toilet in embarrassingly thick strands of seed. His thighs trembles and he collapses against the wall behind him, dick still up. The red fleshy knot flailing uselessly in the open air. His loud gasps echoing in the expense of the bathroom. The heat of his rut recedes slowly, letting the cool air of the surroundings rush into his pores, overheated body cooling down. His dick becoming gradually flaccid and limp.  
  
  
  
  


And yet, all he could think about was Din's large eyes and hair curling around pink lips.

∆  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Din deeply, albeit secretly, loved singing classes. Much of Mandalorian history was never written, as Mandalorians believed in passing on their history down the generations. In a way, it made their history ever alive and flowing, ensuring it would literally live in those who followed the Creed.

And though many in the galaxy saw them as fierce soldiers and notorious hunters who only knew of the Way and brutal violence, the truth was very much different. For the history of the Mando'ade was all verbal and spoken; mostly, if not all, _sung_.

The rest of the galaxy saw the Mandalorians in battle, brandishing their guns and broadcasting their aggressive nature on the battlefield, as the Way would intend them to. However, rare few saw of what was after. After their Beskar had been shined and polished from the muck of battle, when viroblades was cleaned and their weapons laid to one side.

They would gather and sing. Sing of past victories and glory, of distant ancestors accomplishing awesome feats; of clans engaged in civil war, of great rulers uniting Mandalore under one single blade.  
Rumbling voices singing to the same melody and words, under a canopy of stars far away.  
  
  


_Of love, of unending loyalty to one's mate and raising children in Mandalore's name._

The _Kar'taylir darasuum laar_. A song of which every Mandalorian knew by heart.  
  


The _Love Song_.

///  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Paz never struggled much in the course of what would be considered Mandalorian education. As most of it included skills in fighting and flying jetpacks, fields which Paz had never lacked in. Some would say he possessed too much in these respective fields of learning.

But this, this Paz struggled in.

_Singing_

So many different words, so many different melodies and tunes. His mind struggled to grasp onto them and remember them correctly. His parents had always been very insistent on the importance of these lessons. These songs were the living records of their history, reliving stories again and again every time they are sung, ensuring that the Mando'ade would live on in the annals of the world's history. To sing a song of the Mando'ade, they had said, was to breathe life into the Mandalorian people and their heritage itself. So, he bore his confusion silently through those dreaded lessons, as he would've preferred going against a Mythosaur than to admit to this little weakness of his.

Tutors often started younglings off with simple rhymes and tunes. The songs often required pairs to work together to sing and was a good way in cultivating memory and encouraged teamwork, which would be invaluable on the battlefield later on in their lives.  
  


"Paz, gar slanar ti Din." _Paz, you go with Din._

There was an audible _awww_ that went in the room at their teacher's instruction. Apparently and not surprisingly, everyone had wanted to pair up with Paz. The man had merely clicked his tongue and _tsked_ at them.

"Jii ade, solus kelir ganar te balac." _Now children, each will have a turn_

"Jii slanar bal laararir gar laar tome." The man said, arms crossed against his chest.

"Now go and sing together."

There was the bustling of feet hurriedly shuffling to find each respective partner and a corner to sit in. Paz merely waded through the excited crowd of younglings, easily parting a way for himself with his size. All the way to Din, who stood at a far corner waiting for him. All quiet lips and gazing eyes. Paz recognized a bruise on his jaw that he had inflicted on the older boy a few days ago when they sparred together.

"Hello, _Din'ika._ " The boy glared up at him with those infamous big eyes.

"I'm older that you, _Paz'ika_ " The former couldn't help but grin and want to tease the boy even more. The latter frowned at the sight of the younger boy's white teeth bared by that insufferable grin.

"How's the jaw? I hope I didn't I break any teeth." Paz asked as he bended down more than needed to as he looked closer at Din's face. So close that he could see the minute flutter of the boy's long eyelashes as he rolled his eyes.

"Never been better. Let's get started shall we?"

Paz felt dread crack through his cocky smugness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Who shall come with me to the Beskar fields? To the the Beskar fields? To the Beskar fields?"

"Who shall come with me to the Beskar fields? _Oya_ , the Mando'ade knows the Way~"

Din looks back at him, hands on folded legs. Brown eyes expectant. Paz stifles a dry cough as his palms start to sweat a little.

"What..What will you give to know his name? To know his name? To know his name?" He stutters.

"What will you give to know his name? _Oya_ , the Mando'ade knows the Way~"  
  


Din sings again; replies.

"I shall give you a paper flower. A paper flower. A paper flower."

" I shall give you a paper flower to know his name. _Oya_ , the Mando'ade knows the Way~"  
  


Paz's mouth opens like a gaping fish. His brain straining to find the correct words. Fingers wearily grasping onto the fabric of his pants. He finds himself dumbfounded.

Din cocks an eyebrow at him. Paz sweats.  
  
"That is not enou-"

"Hey, I know the words!"

"Really? Is that why you had your mouth wide open for a full minute?"

"Don't get cocky Djarin."

"No, you've already handled that very well." The older snorts, snark. Face spilting grin creasing into dimples on either side of those lips. Paz frowns and grumbles at the sight. Yet a bit surprised, inwardly. He had never seen the boy smile, small teeth and all.  
He hadn't decided if it was a pleasant or not suprise yet.The former leans back, clearly more relaxed now that he knows this little secret of the perfect superstar of house Vizsla.

"We can sing something else simpler, if you want." The boy lulls, almost in a mock sing song voice.

"Don't patronize me Djarin."

The boy closes his eyes, long lashes fluttering against his skin, smiling a lazy smile. Paz gazes at the dimples on his round cheeks.

"How about _The Love Song_? That one's easy and keeps repeating itself."

"Really?" Paz grumbles as Din's eyes open again, a bit of brown showing from underneath soft eyelids.

"Yeah. I'll start first."

He begins to sing again as his eyes close, face relaxed and lips opening. The gentle sun streaming in from a gap in the curtains making his brown hair look lighter in colour as it illuminates his round face in a soft glow.  
  


_"Kaysh cuyir ner kar'taylir daras-"_

\\\\\  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_"-uum. ner kar'taylir darasuum cuyir kaysh."_

"He is my love. My love is he."

Paz hums softly under his breath as he lays in bed, head resting on folded arms beneath. Staring up at nothing in particular. The crackling of the fireplace the only sound in the stillness of the room.

He never had much trouble remembering that song since then.

∆  
  
  


"Would you look at that ?"

Din was busily cleaning his soaked pants. He had suffered through another arduous heat, soaking up almost all his clothes in the process. The slick had managed to even seep through into the sheets and blankets. He would have to clean it after this. His father stood at the slightly opened door, smiling as he looked at something in his hands. Din wanted to turn to look at him to at least, acknowledge the man's presence, but was too embarrassed to let the man know what he was doing.

"You've got an invite."

Din stopped what he was doing. Head turned slightly to look at man behind him, reading the paper in his hand. _Paper? Who the kriff still uses paper?_

"To the Vizsla's banquet. It's their son 20th coming of age." Din rolls his eyes. Apparently, Paz does. That rich snob. Len proceeds to lean against the doorframe, smile turning into a teasing smirk as Din finally rises to face the man, drying his hands on a towel.

"It's handwritten too." He says, thrusting the fine paper into his hands. He handles it delicately, knowing that paper like this was expensive. And that Paz was an idiot, to waste even more on ink to scrawl all over the paper with his scruffy handwriting. It even has a red stamp with the Vizsla insignia on it.

"His handwriting is awful." He says after a moment, running his finger over the paper, feeling the texture of it with his thumb. His father pats a hand on his shoulder.

"Go."

He snaps up to look at him. "What?"

"He personally wrote to you. It would be rude to refuse."

Something in him desperately wants to avoid another confrontation with Paz. So he stumbles to formulate a billion excuses.

"I'm not a person of import. I'm not even related to the clan, even remotely." Len tilts his head, blonde hair shifting to side. The man crosses his arms.

"You could be, if you go."

He feels the way the blood rushes to his ears at his father's insinuation. The man lets out a sudden and boisterous laugh that makes him flinch.  
  


"I can give you a ride there as well, since I'm going there too."

"I thought you wanted to take me bounty hunting today." Din remarked, hoping to still get out of this in any way possible.

"And I will," The man said, walking away from the door, waving a hand at him that Din knows leaves no room for argument." _After_ we go to the Vizsla's."

As the bathroom door closes again, he returns back to scrubbing the slick off his clothes. Albeit more aggressively than needed.

\\\\\  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"You are less bigger than I thought you would be, Paz Vizsla."  
  


Aedeta Vizsla was of rather high upbringing as well. Her mother had been of Vizsla, while his father was a respected general in the army who made a name for himself.

Aedeta herself looked like the perfect picture of Mandalorian regality. With a lean body and long thighs that was strong enough, he heard, to break a wookie's neck. Green helmet titled up in apprehension as she took in all of Paz in front her.  
The clan elders had personally requested her parents to let her attend the banquet this evening, in honour of Paz's 20th birthday. Today, she was to be the guest of the most utmost honour, waited to be seated beside him at the table tonight.

Her voice, smooth and silky like that of a rare female Omega, even under the suppression of the voice modulator, felt like a song. Paz took her gloved hands gently in his, lifting it to his helm as he pressed gently against it.

_"Get to know her well, my son." His parents had said earlier._

_" The elders were most insistent."_

Paz thought her voice was a bit too sweet for his liking. He smiled under his helm as he bowed slightly before her.

"Most honoured, my lady."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He had never liked places with a lot of people.

The crowds, the myriad voices,the shrill laughter of women, the smell of perfumed air; it made his stomach churn something awful.

Stepping out from the plank of the _Razor Crest_ , he could literally already imagine the chaos inside the very, very well lit estate of the Vizsla's.

His father, suddenly appearing behind out of nowhere, breaks him out of his trance with a gentle push at the shoulders, sending him stumbling a little down the ramp. He looks back at his father, screaming betrayal through the beskar of his helmet.  
The man only chuckles, voice flattened by the modulator of his helmet as Din half drags himself to the gates of the large estate. Worse still, his father leaves him stranded soon after they intercepted the hall where all the guests gathered, loud voices flattened and toned down by modulators echoing in the expense of the large room. Colourful helmets titled to reveal their lips as the guests sipped on wine and food. Din feels a bit dizzy. To him, it sounded like endless gunfire and blasters.

Len mentioned something about business with a Rusol Vizsla before bidding him good luck. Din, in the midst of the sea of voices, barely registered it; or the man's subsequent exit from the room. Not until he swiveled around to look for his father, only to be greeted by unfamiliar armoured silhouettes and polished helmets. In the end, he found a quieter corner he could stand awkwardly in and pray no one would notice him. Looking down at the shuffling of his boots against the shiny marble floor.

Just then, another pair of boots comes into view, sky blue against the marble.

"You came." Paz remarks, rich baritone voice surrounding him. Cornering him into the corner even more. Anger flares in him as he snaps up to look at him, trying to ignore the stutter in his heartbeat as that gravelly voice floated all around him; ringing in his ears.

"Why did you do it?"

The bastard has the nerve to tilt his helmet sideways, the picture of all charming innocence. "Do what?"

"You know what you did you...you brute!" Din hisses, wanting so much to grab him by the shoulders and shove a knee between those thick thighs. The bastard laughs, all cocky and deep. Din feels something in him twitch.

"Ah yes, I remember you calling me that." Paz quips, with something like fondness. Din thinks the stress must be causing him to hallucinate. Sucking in a breath, he looks up to the man in front of him. And he is now, a man. No longer the young adult that toppled him over so easily at the arena all those years ago. If he was tall before, then he must be gigantic now; massive shoulders complemented by an impressive, impossible figure with that rich, gravelly voice. Din wondered how his bare skin looked under that armour, if any of their past spars had left an indent on his skin. He had to suppress a full body shudder at the thought.

"Why did you even do this?" He hated how he sounded, all cracked and dry. Paz continued to regard him silently.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"I did quite a few things with you Din. You'll have to more specific." He feels his ears go red again. Thank god for the helmet.

"Don't play the innocent card with me you asshole. Why did you send me that letter?"

Paz just shifts a tad closer to him. If Din wasn't feeling so cornered, he was sure that he wouldn't even have noticed.

"I wanted to thank you." He replied softly, as if not wanting others to hear.

"For teaching me to sing all those years ago."

Din is stunned silent for a moment.  
  


"...You're joking Vizsla."

The large Alpha leans in closer, hands moving to place themselves at each side of that muscled waist. Their helms just a hair's breath away from each other's. The smaller man struggled not to look away as he met the blue visor head on. Paz almost whispers as he speaks.

"Would you like to be called that?"

And Din psychically _splutters_.

Paz, on the other hand, throws his head back as he laughs loudly. Helmet titled so far back in his apparent mirth that a strip of his neck is revealed from the constraints of his blue Beskar helmet.

"Oh Djarin, you were _always_ so fun to tease."

Before the shorter man could collect himself enough to attempt to throw a punch at that helmet, the latter grabs his arm. Large fingers curling at his clothed wrist as he pulls, visor to visor facing each other once again.  
  


"Come my _ori'vod._ "

Din shouts unheard protests as Paz drags him across the room, the wave of people seemingly parting almost naturally for his bulk to wade through. Completely flustered red beneath the helmet, he punches at that stupidly, _needlessly_ large hand wrapped around his wrist. Paz literally drags him, skidding across the floor as he shouts curses and insults at him in indignant fury.

" _Demagolka!_ "

" _Di'kut!_ "

" _Ori'jagyc!_ "

  
No one in the crowd seems to notice though, still busily sipping away their wine glasses as Din's screams start sounding like a lunatic's being dragged back to the looney bin. Has the bastard managed to seduce the whole crowd so much with that trademark accursed charm that they can see no wrong in anything he does? Din felt like his heart and veins may just all burst, either from embarrassment or utter furry he just didn't know.

He continues to pull and claw away from the larger man's hold, be it if he had to shout and yell like a child who had just been denied his favourite treat by their parents. So much so that he didn't realize Paz had managed to drag him out of the ballroom and into the surrounding gardens outside. Din's terrible shouts and screams scattering birds in the trees and the innocent herd of _kaadus_ that had gathered around the ornate crystal fountain to drink.

Paz finally released him, Din immediately stumbling backwards from all the momentum he has gathered from all the pulling and rough crazed tugging. Landing flat on his bum onto the soft grounds of the gardens. Paz towers over him, seeming overly amused over the whole situation.

Din is burning fumes as he stands to face the other still towering over him.

"You......you......you!"

Paz doesn't answer, smug shit crossing his arms over his chest.

" _Sheb'urcyin!_ " Din screams, breaking the peaceful serenity of the estate gardens now all gone of its tamed animals. He can vaguely hear the trickling of the fountain behind him through the fog of his red hot anger.

"Din.."

" _Ne'johaa!_ Zip it you...you _egomaniac_! Is it your hobby?To embarrass me every chance you get?! You....you fucking sadistic piece of shit!"

Paz draws closer, both arms raising to almost circle the smaller man's frame.

"Listen, _sarad_...."

Din registers tears slipping down his cheeks from his burning eyes as the anger flares dangerously in him. Words leaving his lips in streams uncontrollably.

"You don't get to call me that! How _dare_ you call me that!?" Din points a trembling finger at him.

" _Jehaat!_ You turn everything into an insult towards me! And don't you dare call me _Din'ika_ again. I'm older than you-"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Paz circles Din completely with his bulkier arms, pulling the man shaking in absolute anger flush against him.  
  
  


The smaller man is stunned silent in the man's hold, anger suddenly frozen in place as Paz rests the chin of his helmet on the top of him. Large palm cupping his back as the other soothes the curve of where his shoulder would be if there wasn't a armour shoulder plate covering it. The man seems to be vibrating in heat as he hums into his ears. Sliding the cheek plate of his helmet against the metal of his, nuzzling him in the coolness of the evening mists. Over the man's enormous shoulders, he can half see the flat beak of a _kaadu_ peeking out from the thick greenery, blurred by the tear slipping from his eyes; it falls gently down the rise of his cheek, a sole quiet drop that lingers on his chin before falling into the green glass below, a dewdrop of moisture in the evening cool.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"I apologize," Paz starts, voice quiet as he starts to sway them together a little. "I never knew it made you feel that way."

"But know that I am no liar, for when I call you _sarad_ , I meant it as it always should be."  
  
  


Din can _feel_ the way that grin forms on Paz's lips.  
  
  
  


" _Din'ika._ "

Din punches the blue helm, with much less fury now that the anger simmered and started to retreat. Proceeding to attempt pushing himself away from being almost glued to that broad chest. But the Vizsla is stubborn and stubbornly strong if nothing else, the one arm around his back curling even tighter and allowing only pathetic squirms from the other. Din manages to get a good kick at those thighs, not that it moved the giant currently crushing him, even by a little. He huffs, anger all but draining out and drying tears tracks on his cheek feeling sticky. The Alpha nuzzles him further, impossibly large frame bending down to sneak his polished helmet into the space of his neck. Visor digging into what little exposed skin his armour allowed.  
  


" _Usen'ye_ ,you smelly lug." Din says, with absolutely no heat. Hands even coming up to pet the man's helmet. Paz hums in response, sounding pleased. Some _kaadu_ start sneaking out from the bushes, clearly less spooked now that the screaming had faded.

"You smell divine, _ner sarad_." Din ears go red again as he remembered washing down his sheets, this time very forcefully pushing against the others embrace. The male seemed to get the message, loosening his hold to let Din slip away slowly, but not completely. He let his one arm slip down just a silver of a millimeter above his waist, the other still loosely holding on to his shoulder plating. Din found himself unable to form words; if he should apologize for his erratic behaviour just before or to speak words of farewell and leave to find his father. They had planned to go bounty hunting together after all and Din hated to come here in the first place.

But he didn't want to leave.

His indecision left the both of them in awkward silence. With only the hum of the songbirds returning to the branches of the trees and the heavy snorts and squeaks of the _kaadu_ emerging from the bushes.  
  
  


Paz, the ever confident of the both of them, of _anyone_ really, spoke first.  
  
  
  
  
  


"Do you know how to dance Din?"

"What?"

Paz chuckles, hand on his shoulder slipping down to his arm.

"Dancing, sarad, dancing." To emphasize his point, he starts to sway, Din swept up in the movement as he follows, stilted. His bones seem to be set in stone, unable to swing with the natural grace that Paz possessed.

Paz inches his helm closer to him, that hand a bare millimeter away from the curve of his waist shaking in anticipation. The larger man whispers, gentle like the evening mists around them. Dreamy like looking at the liquid sun setting, the sky bright orange and black blue all at once. Fluttering like the unheard melody of a butterfly's wing beat; Din finds himself falling, falling.

He always had been.  
  
  
  
  
  


"Will you let me teach you _ner sarad_?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Yes."

The hand finally slips down, long fingers curling around the entirety of the smaller man's waist. The other finding his hand, placing them on one side of his solid waist. It barely covers half of the blue armour enclosed around it. Finally, his hands finds his other, large fingers treading with smaller ones, feeling between the gaps of fingers; flexing and curling. Curving into a whole, gentle fist. Paz just continues to sway, Din slowly relaxing and allowing himself to do the same.

"That's it sarad, that's it." Paz coos, voice a rumbly low timbre. Fingers tracing his waist delicately, curling around it, covering the span of it completely, then loosening again. Following the hidden but existent line of his spine up to his nape; back again. Maddeningly delicate in its path. The man even squeezes once at his nape, Din holding back a barely repressed whimper. He rests his forehead shyly on that infinitely broad chest, fingers creeping up the long, long stretch of a muscled and toned waist. Paz picks up speed, feet starting to move to a rhythm and Din, poor man that he is caught in a spider's snare, can only follow. Around them, the sky swirls and moves like the colours of an oil painting on canvas; red blood orange with deepest darkest purples that shines in the light like blue. The setting sun an egg yolk yellow. The flowing water of the fountain trickling with the ring of a fairie's bells, reflecting the sunset around them. The _kaadu_ grazing in its blissful ignorance and Paz starts to sing. And Din, in his blissful euphoria like haze, supposes he taught him well.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_I confess, I went through hell, not you,_

_My love._

_Before I got wind of you_

_My love._

_Life was not worth being lived_

_Without love,_

_But it's you who wanted it,_

_My love._

_Though whether you admit it or not_

_As we danced the night away_

_We loved each other_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_For the length of a love song_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Back on the ship with his father, Din found himself still caught in a daze. Phantom fingers felt curling around his waist, then sneaking under his helm, tracing deftly across his lips as he continued to sing.  
He falls slowly into oblivion at those words, uttered so sweetly in his ears, like a promise, like a vow:  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Ner sarad," _The man whispers, grasping the other in a tight embrace._  
  
  
  
  


" _My darling flower,_ "  
  
  
  
  
  
  


" _We loved each other for the length of a love song._ "

[]

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> demagolka
> 
> someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche
> 
> di'kut
> 
> idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
> 
> dinii
> 
> lunatic
> 
> Ne'johaa!
> 
> Shut up!
> 
> ori'jagyc
> 
> bullying; also bully, swaggering big-mouth - someone who picks on someone smaller - lit. "big man" said sarcastically, applied equally to women
> 
> sheb'urcyin
> 
> sycophant, toady, "butt-kisser"
> 
> Usen'ye!
> 
> Go away! (Very rude)
> 
> Jehaat
> 
> Phony


End file.
